Home
by blurrygraylines
Summary: If people would just look a little harder, they would see cases of empty beer bottles in the trash can, used syringes in desk drawers, blood stains on the belts in my father's dresser. But of course they don't. To them, it's the perfectly normal Wests, Rudy, Mary, and Wally. No one ever has any reason to look harder. This is my home. And this is my hell. Welcome back.


**AN: I'M SORRY WALLY. YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY WHENEVER YOU'RE IN MY STORIES. *SHUFFLES AWAY* People seemed to like my other abused!Wally stories, so here's another one. BTW, for anyone that cares, Wires Break, But They Can Also Mend is not abandoned, I'm just writing other things. I'll get back to it later. Review!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Wally West or DC, or else Wally being abused would be cannon. I also do not own the unnamed movie that the Allens and Wally are watching (X-Men, 2000)**

Home

I scuff my feet on the sidewalk as I trudge towards the house, my body casting a shadow in the morning light. Not _my_ house, just _the_ house. The house where my father lives. The house where my mother lives. The house where I live.

I dread going home. I hate it. I hate that house. I hate my empty room. I hate the full cabinets. I hate the pristine bathrooms. I hate the big TV. I hate my absent mother. I hate my drunk father. I hate myself.

There aren't any places I call home. How can I when the home I'm supposed to have is more like Hell? My "home" means a drunk father. Absent mother. Pain. Suffering. Not at all what a home _should_ be.

Of course I wouldn't know. I've never had anything else but this. I don't even know what home is. I looked it up. It wasn't very helpful.

It was just a place of residence. Like a house or an apartment. I thought home was supposed to be a place where you're cared for. Where people love you. My "home" is not a home. Never was, never will be.

My home is full of fear. Just being in the place leeches any positive emotion out of me. After a while, positivity was gone forever, trapped in foreboding air of that house. My house has that sense, that "there's more to it than meets the eye". The spotless living room and full cabinets would never let you know that more happens there.

If people would just look a little harder, they would see cases of empty beer bottles in the trash can, used syringes in desk drawers, blood stains on my father's belts in his dresser. But of course they don't. To them, it's the perfectly normal Wests, Rudy, Mary, and Wally. No one ever has any reason to look harder.

Even the Batman has been to my house, and he never suspected a thing. At least I don't think he has. It's hard to tell with the cowl. And the unmovable expression.

My feet come to a hesitant stop in front of old wooden stairs with chipped paint. I look up at the unsuspecting house, dreading what was inside. I suck in a big breath of air, trying to seem bigger than I am. My foot hovers above the first step, as I try to steel my nerves. I let out the air and set my foot on the step, it creaking under the weight.

I begin making my way up the rest of the stairs, preparing my mind for the inevitable. I push open the weathered door, scrunching up my face as a sort of protection. I stand in the doorway, with my head bowed and my backpack sitting next to me.

I hear the creak for someone getting out of a chair, and my heart rate spikes. My senses elevate for a moment, and I can clearly smell the cigarette smoke and drugs in the air. I hear nothing after the creak, so I hesitantly open my eyes.

Just as they crack open, a fist comes flying at my face. I fall against the door, instinctively thrusting out a hand to catch myself. I slide down the big plank of wood until I'm sitting on the floor. I don't move. It's best to just let him do it. Moving only makes it worse.

"What the fuck are you playing at!?" he shouts. I cringe. I was supposed to be back here last night. We had a mission that stayed late, so I crashed at the Cave last night. Of course my father wasn't happy. He didn't like heroes. He had forbidden me from staying over at night. I always had to come home, unless it was a sleepover at someone's house. Like Uncle Barry's, or "my friend Richard's house". AKA Wayne Manor, where my best friend Richard "Dick" Grayson lives.

I stay sitting against the wall. I barely flinch as a kick is delivered right to my unprotected stomach. I've become so used to this, that I expect it whenever I'm home.

Last night was breath of air in a deep lake. Not enough to emerge, but enough to stay alive for a little longer. There was no need to worry about someone sneaking up on me in the night. I was with friends. No one was going to hurt me. I tried to keep that in mind, but I still flinched whenever anyone tried to touch me.

Another kick is aimed at me, and I take it silently. I endure the abuse, just like any other day. I hear the sound of a belt sliding out of a pair of jeans, and realize that today is one of _those_ days.

What I've done is unforgivable. I disobeyed one of my father's direct orders, and now I was feeling the consequences. This offence has earned the belt. My father didn't usually use the belt very often, only for some of the worst of things. But lately the worst is getting easier to achieve.

Now the worst is not cleaning my room, not emptying the dishwasher. Little things like that. I don't often forget the little things like that, but I'm a speedster. Things slip my mind all the time. Even though the price of forgetting to clean my room is a beating. It doesn't matter what I do, beatings always come one way or another.

But somewhere deep inside me, a voice says, _This is your fault. You brought this on yourself. You stayed over when he already told you not to. This wouldn't happen if you had come back like you were supposed to._

The belt cracks down on me over and over. Now I'm hurting all over. Somewhere in the kicking and lashing, my father had slammed his foot down on my ankle, breaking it. The break is pretty bad, the angle of his foot on my ankle broke it cleanly, although painfully. My head thuds on the door over and over, and I'm pretty sure I have a concussion. The belt stings more and more as my father brings it down on me, kicking me occasionally in between lashes.

Suddenly he grabs the collar of my shirt and starts dragging me over to the kitchen. Blood dripped off me from the belt lashes, leaving smears on the carpet until we got to the kitchen. My father stumbles a bit as we enter the kitchen, and crashes into a drawer full of kitchen knives. I have no clue if that was on purpose or not, but because of it I to take a shower in knives.

I get a bunch of cuts from them, and one large one cuts my thigh deeply. I pull it out, but the damage is already done. I wince from the pain, warm blood dripping down my leg.

Father resumes lashing me with the belt, and now I'm close to screaming. The pain is becoming to much, too much, too much. I begin crying out with each lash, my cries and whimpers filling the empty air of the room, the only noise besides the whistling of the belt and my father's heavy breathing. My father begins winding down, his lashes with the belt noticeably becoming slower. After what seems like hours, he finally slows to a stop.

I'm breathing hard by the end of it, and I let out a scream as he grabs my collar again. He begins dragging me again, this time to the stairs. We leave the kitchen, leaving knives and smears of blood behind. My mother will probably clean it up later, erasing any evidence that it ever happened, as usual.

Father drags me up the stairs, each wooden step jostling my cracked ribs. We go down the hallway to my room. My father opens the door and literally throws me in. He closes the door behind him, locking it. There's now escaping now.

I know I'm going to be left in my room for the rest of the day, most likely until tomorrow. He might make me skip training, I don't know. I do and don't want to go to the Cave. Not going would be a pain to explain to the others later, but my injuries definitely wouldn't be healed by tomorrow. There was no way I could train without hurting myself even more.

My injuries definitely wouldn't be healed. After a beating, there isn't food often. My parents are aware that I'm Kid Flash and that I'm part of a covert branch of the League. They know they have to let me go to training and go on missions or else risking letting others find out about the abuse.

But the food helps me heal. I guess they withhold food so that I can endure the punishment, like a normal boy. It makes sense.

I'll be locked in my room until tomorrow with no food to heal my injuries. Without energy, that's the food, my body can't heal itself. I'll have these injuries for as long as I don't eat anything. I have no clue when my next meal will be. I never do.

Most likely I'll be forced to go to training tomorrow, and my father won't give me any food. I'll have to train with these injuries, endure them. I can't let the Team know about this. I've trained after beatings before, so I'm kind of used to it. After all these years of lying, I've become an excellent actor. They won't know unless I let them. Which will never happen, as long as I can help it.

The next few hours pass by like years. The only thing I can think about is pain. Nothing else is allowed in my mind at the moment. I can feel my body yearning for energy to heal itself. I can't get any food at the moment, seeing as I'm busy lying in my own blood, unable to move.

Somewhere in the early morning I work up the strength to drag myself over to my bed and prop myself up. I promptly pass out from the effort. I awake about an hour and a half later, as far as my internal clock can tell. I wasn't completely starved, so some of my injuries started looking slightly better, but nowhere near healed. I push myself up from my slightly slumped over position, giving my ribs some relief.

I breath out a pained breath. Now is for the hard part. My father broke my ankle, so now I have to set it. I have some wood and tape in my nightstand just in case anything like this ever happens. I position myself so my foot is straight out.

I'm pretty flexible, so I can easily reach my foot. I wrap up the wound at my ankle to stop the bleeding. Then I brace the wood against the joints above and below the break. I wrap the wood in place, making sure to avoid the wound that bleeds. I tape my ankle just tight enough that it stabilizes the bone, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation.

I then heave myself up onto the bed, finding a position that doesn't jostle my ribs and my ankle too much. The early sun begins shining through the window, and I groan. It's officially tomorrow.

Tomorrow, now today, means training. Ninety-five percent chance. My father will want to keep up the illusion that everything is fine.

A sharp knock sounds on the door an hour and a half later. My mother's muffled voice comes through the door.

"Get up, Wallace! Be downstairs in two minutes," The 'or else' goes unsaid, but it's implied.

I'm still in my clothes from yesterday, obviously. It hurts so much to change, but I manage to do it somehow. I make it down stairs a little over two minutes later, and my mother gives me a glare but doesn't say anything.

I see the table set for two places. An unexpected stab hits me right in the chest. Not a literal stab, but this one seems to hurt even more than if it was literal. This pain is obviously emotional.

My father is seated at his place, reading a newspaper calmly. As if. He was never calm.

"Well, Wallace? Get your skinny little ass out of my house," He says as a greeting. He goes back to his paper, obviously expecting me to leave immediately. I do.

I walk out of the house as fast as I can with my current injuries. I trudge in my worn-down sneakers down the sidewalk, heading towards the Keystone zeta tube. For once I'm not running over to the tube, I don't want to jostle my injuries anymore than I have to.

I walk calmly, trying to postpone the inevitable pain that is about to come from training. It doesn't work to well. I'm at the zeta tube before I even know it.

I walk slowly into the tube, hearing it call out my designation. I feel it scattering my molecules, then reassembling them at Mount Justice.

 **RECOGNISED: KID FLASH B-O-3**

I survey the room, automatically mapping out exits and where everyone is, even though I know the Cave by heart. Dick is sitting on the couch, reading a book in Italian (He'll say it's to get better at Italian, but it's really just because he likes showing off how many languages he knows.)

M'gann is in the kitchen attempting to bake something (As usual.), Artemis is sitting on the floor sharpening her arrows (Does she ever do anything else?), Kaldur is walking in with a towel around his neck and his skin wet (Probably out "communicating with ocean life"), Conner is also sitting on the couch, watching static (Why is that so interesting?).

Dick is the first to notice me, he's a Bat, so that's not surprising. His face breaks into a big grin, and he throws his book aside to stand up.

"Wally! Hey! I was wondering when you would get here," Dick says, his voice becoming kinda quiet and shy at the end for some reason.

I try to smile at him, making it the most convincing I can. I keep my head down in hopes that he won't notice the bruise on my cheek. "Hey, Rob. Sorry, I slept in a little, I guess". He seems to buy it. He and everyone else go back to whatever they were doing until training starts.

I walk (Read: hobble) over to the kitchen where M'gann is. Each step brings a searing pain to my ribs, a sharp ache to my head. A few steps in I pause, pretending to see what Conner is watching while I catch my breath and steel myself up for the rest of the walk to the kitchen.

I push off the wall I'm leaning on, beginning the long journey to the Cave's kitchen. Nobody seems to notice my inner turmoil.

What I don't get, is that they're my friends. They're superheroes. They should see this. They should notice what's going on with me. Shouldn't they?

Heck, Dick and Artemis see cases of child abuse every other _week_. They should see the signs of my situation at home, they see me every day. They should see it… But they don't. I keep walking.

I make it to the kitchen. M'gann gives me a cheerful wave before going back to her baking project. She doesn't say anything. That doesn't matter. All that matters is food.

Why I beeline to the kitchen every day. Food. I have injuries a lot when I come to the Cave, so I worked out a system way back. I always have to eat before I can do literally _anything_ else. But, even for a speedster, I can't eat too much at the Cave. I need even more food to heal than usual, so eating that much when I should have had all the time heal from the mission two days ago would be suspicious.

I yank open the fridge too hard, barely concealing a yelp at the pain in my sprained shoulder. M'gann doesn't notice, too engrossed in her baking. I look into the fridge, seeing the usual things. Things for making sandwiches, some sodas and other drinks, fruits and vegetables, some leftover cake that M'gann must have baked.

I grab some turkey, cheese, lettuce, olives, some cake, a sprite, and a bottle of water. I look into the pantry and retrieve some chips and bread. I quietly set to making three large sandwiches with chips on the side. I grab the drinks, sandwiches, and cake, heading out of the main room and down the hallway to where my room is.

I can feel a stare or two on my back, but I ignore it in favor of taking my food to my room and eating in peace. I don't think they'll come after me, but I don't really care that much. I could just tell them that I'm tired from "training with the Flash yesterday". They don't like dealing with tired speedsters. We tend to get crabby and annoying.

I enter my room, walking over to my desk and setting down my food on the oak wood. My room is decorated like a Flash fan's would be. There's pale yellow walls with red accents, pictures and news articles of the Flash and Kid Flash taped on the walls. There's a red bedspread on the bed with a large yellow lightning bolt. There's a big wooden bookshelf in the corner, filled with large books and superhero action figures. Most of them being Flash/Kid Flash and Green Lantern (Uncle Hal practically threw a tantrum when he found out that I didn't have any GL action figures. Now I have about twenty of them.).

The carpet is a nice pale gray. Overall, my room is a big mix of red and yellow. Somehow it manages to look tasteful, and not a blast of hot dog condiments.

I go over into the adjoined bathroom and open one of the cabinets under the sink. I pull out my first aid kit and go back into my room. I set the kit down on the desk and sit in a chair. I take a huge bite of my sandwich before taking out the disinfectant and gauze. I start on disinfecting my cuts, wincing a little at the sting.

I then wrap them up with gauze. I move on to the belt lashes. I move to the bathroom and clean them with mild soap and lukewarm water. After that, I press cool compresses to the welts. I tape the compresses on and move back to my bedroom.

I sit back down in my chair with some fresh bandages and tape to redo my splint. I have a little freezer in the bathroom that I keep ice in. I grabbed some on my way out of the bathroom, so now I wrap it up with some cloth and tape it against my ribs, ankle, and shoulder. That's pretty much the only thing I can do for my shoulder. Wearing a sling would be too obvious. Then I turn on some music and go back to eating my food.

I get up about every 10-20 minutes to apply ice again, depending on where the various bruises, fractures, sprains, and breaks are. After the food and the treatment for my injuries, I start to feel better. The deep cut from the knife that cut my leg will probably heal in a week, the break in my ankle in a week and a half or two. The bruises will be gone in a few hours, the ribs healed in one or two weeks. The knife cuts will probably be healed in a few days, same with the belt lashes.

In all, the broken ankle will probably be the most problematic, seeing as I can't run with it. And not running will definitely raise suspicions. I'll have to come up with a way to get out of training today. And missions, if there are any.

A cold could possibly be a good excuse (For any non-speedsters), except I don't get colds. So that one's out. I could just say I'm not feeling well. Not specific, just blame it on my powers. They'll take it, nobody, not even us speedsters know the limits of our powers.

Yeah, I'll just tell them I'm feeling weird. A knock sounds on the door. Ah, speak of the devil.

"Hey, Walls? You in there? It's time for training," Dick's muffled voice comes through the door. Time to see if he'll buy my excuse.

"Uh, I'm feeling weird today. Don't think I'm up for training," I say. There's silence from behind the door for a moment.

"Uh… Okay. I guess I'll tell everyone and BC," He says.

He adds on. "If you want I can come and keep you company until training?" Dick asks, sounding hopeful. I panic momentarily. No way can I let him get in here.

"Uh… No thanks, I'm good. Bye, Robin," I refuse. I hear a sigh, and then footsteps walking away.

I sigh half relief and half nervousness. The relief because he bought it, and if he tells the rest of the Team, they won't question it. The nervousness because Black Canary will definitely come to question it.

So I'll have to leave the Cave before she finds me.

All of us are usually expected to gather ten minutes before the actual training starts, giving us time to change into workout clothes and be in the training ring. Black Canary usually arrives five minutes after to start training.

That means I should leave now, during the five minutes that everyone's changing. Robin might be done sooner than that, so I should watch out for him. Artemis also changes fast. The most problematic is going to be Superboy, Aqualad, and Miss Martian. Superboy and Aqualad practically never change out of their uniforms, and Miss M can just instantly morph her clothes. They're always the first ones ready for training.

It's not everyday that I skip training. Most of the time, I can be the first from speeding into my uniform and to the training room in three seconds. Faster than they can run, fly, or swim there. But it's also not everyday that my father gives me a broken ankle. So training is out today. I have to sneak out of one of the most secure facilities in the US, with a broken ankle and fractured ribs. Whoopee. I should probably get to work.

I heave myself out of the chair and move over to the door. I push the button that opens the door, and peek out into the hallway. Clear. For now.

I step out into the deserted halls silently. My room is about three quarters down the hall. I'm next to Dick, which is both good and bad. He's a Bat, so he picks up on a lot of stuff. Loud nightmares, unexplained injuries, unexcused absences. But he's also my best friend. He can deal with my annoying speedster-ness (As Dick puts it.) Well, he sometimes does get pretty annoyed if I'm being too speedster-y. Which is ridiculous. He loves me.

The girls and the boys have separate halls in the mountain, we boys are on the west side and the girls are on the east side. In our hall, it's me and Dick on the left side, Conner and Kaldur on the right. Over on the east side of the mountain… I actually have no idea. Boys aren't allowed over there. Well, mostly me. But whatever. Doesn't matter. But I do know that M'gann and Artemis have rooms there, Zatanna and Rocket don't stay as much as they do. M'gann lives at the mountain full time, and Artemis lives with her mom in Gotham.

You might ask how I know that. Artemis, the Green Arrow's protege lives in Gotham? Yeah, she does. I do look at the zeta tube controls sometimes, when I'm learning more about them, trying to figure out their inner workings. From observing them, looking at their circuitry, tinkering with them, talking with Adam Strange, I know more about them than anyone on the Team.

I'm also a great lie detector. I know that her excuses for why she's in Gotham are fony. I just pieced together the pieces. It's wasn't as hard as you'd think. I know that Dick knows, but she doesn't know that. I mean, Dick's civilian identity sees her at school every day. And Bruce probably told Dick everything about each and every one of us. And Dick also tells me things. Perks of being best friends with Robin.

Anyway, I make it out of the boy's hall. I have to go through the hallway next to the kitchen, and then through the kitchen to the living room. I then make my way to the zeta beam tubes next to the training circle.

I open the not-so-hidden panel in the wall that houses the controls for the beams. I've looked at this panel countless times, I know it inside and out. I've always known my way around tech. It's been easy for me. Science and technology are my _things_. Passions. Robin's the tech expert on the Team, but I'm just as good as him, if not better.

I know how to turn the setting for calling out zeta designations off. I know that Bats and Robin use it so they can come and leave unannounced. I use it too, when I don't want anyone to know I'm leaving. It's fairly easy really. On the holo-screen that pops up, there's literally a virtual switch that's labeled "Designation Announcements: On/Off". It's really as easy as that.

I program the zeta tube to Central City. I've decided to go to my uncle's house. He probably won't question it. Too much. I step into the golden light, letting the zeta energy break apart my molecules, then reassembling them in Central City, Missouri.

My uncle's house isn't too far from the zeta, I can get there in 10-15 minutes walking. Unfortunately, walking is painful. Example: today.

Ten minutes later, I arrive at my uncle's front door step. Maybe this isn't the best idea… My uncle is a CSI, he could probably notice something wrong just as fast as Batman. Well, there's no turning back now. I'm here after all. And my aunt's already noticed me.

The door flies open, revealing Iris's surprised face.

"Wally? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be training with the Team?" She asks in that rapid-fire reporter way of hers. I try to smile at her.

"Oh, sorry. There actually wasn't training today. I guess I forgot," I lie easily. She nods in understanding.

Things like this happened all the time between me and my uncle. _Speedsters_ , she'd say in exasperation when Uncle B forgot that he had a JLA meeting. I'd just laugh at him, glad that she wasn't saying that to me. Uncle B would turn to me with a mock-betrayed face, and claim that I betrayed him. Then he'd playfully grab my cheeks and push my face around before letting go and asking if Iris had any chocolate chip cookies.

She'd smile and say of course she did. I'd then speed to the kitchen to try to get them before Uncle Barry. He'd speed after me, most of the time letting me get there before him. Aunt Iris would shout at us that we weren't supposed to use superspeed in the house, but we'd ignore her and laugh. At least until she threatened to take the cookies hostage until after dinner. Then we'd have to beg her for forgiveness, getting on our knees and pleading. She'd laugh and say we were forgiven. We would all grab cookies and just enjoy each other's company, laughing and savoring her treats.

Those are my favorite days. The days where we would just relax and have fun together, as a family. I feel safe with my aunt and uncle. They are truly my home. Wherever they were, that's my favorite place. My home is with them, not with my blood parents, not in that house. My aunt and uncle are my parents in everything but blood.

My uncle appears behind Aunt Iris, a smile on his face.

"No training, huh? Well, that doesn't mean _we_ can't train!" He says. I groan. This was not what I needed. Sometimes training with Uncle Barry is worse than with the Team. All the constant running hurts my injuries. Despite the pain, I love it. I love the freedom of running, and spending time with my uncle. Knowing that I'm training to hone my skills, making a difference to Central City. But today I don't think I can do it. There's no way I'm running with a broken ankle.

My ankle should heal in about a week, but there's no way I can go without training for that long. Normally with a broken ankle, I'd be suspended from the Team for about a week and a half. To heal, and then give myself time to recover. During that time I'd study our powers with Uncle Barry, something that didn't require jostling my bones.

We'd do mental stuff, study the speedforce, experiment on the Flash's powers, go over to Joan and Jay's for meals and to learn from Jay, brush up on our scientific knowledge. Then when I was fully recovered, I'd go back to the Team for regular missions and training. And Uncle Barry and I would test out all that we'd discovered during my recovery time.

Except this time, nobody knew that I was hurt. So I either had to come up with an excuse for it, or tell the truth. But telling the truth was not an option. So, excuses it was.

One thing that I didn't think about was maybe trying to accelerate my metabolism, even more than it already is. I might be able to heal faster if I eat more… I guess I could try. My aunt's used to us eating a lot, she's been feeding two speedsters for years.

"Uncle Barry, can't a day off from training be a day off from training?" I whine. He considers the idea. We Flashes definitely understand the need for training, and we train just as well as the other superheroes. We train differently, but then again, not everyone needs superspeed training. We also are not as vigorous as the Bats, but they're kinda unhealthy in that matter. (Shh… Don't tell them I said that. They might sic Alfred on me. Nothing, I mean _nothing_ , is more terrifying than Alfred…)

"Fine… But only today!" He concedes.

"Yes!" I exclaim, jumping a little and thrusting my hand into the air. I ignore the pain from my ankle, I can already feel it healing from the food and rest.

There might not even be a reason to speed up my metabolism at this rate. I have noticed my powers becoming stronger lately. It's been showing less in training, most injuries healing before training even starts. Though, my father hasn't given me a beating like this in a long time. I guess yesterday was a special occasion.

Anyway, Uncle B and the other speedsters (Jay, Max, Johnny) think the reason my powers are getting stronger is because I'm getting older. Barry and all the other speedsters had gotten their powers when they were already adults, so I'm the first teenage speedster. They think that's why I haven't been as fast as them. I'm definitely getting faster now, so maybe someday I'll be up to their speed.

"Seeing as this is a special day, how about we stay in and have a movie night?" Uncle Barry asks. I smile. This day of relaxation is exactly what I need.

"That sounds good," Aunt Iris agrees. "I've been running around like a madwoman all week,"

"As long as the Rogues are not up to something, I'm in!" I say. God, I hope they aren't. The Rogues have taken me in as one of their own, for whatever reason. They like to think they're as much my family as Uncle B is, which could be true. They've been in my life for years, they are practically family.

Uncle B and the Rogues used to be a lot less friendly than they are now, but since I proved that they're better than just thieves, Uncle Barry's tolerated them more, even letting me sleepover when I was little. Even though my father was not happy about it when I came home, and I got a beating, I loved it. James and Hartley, the babies of the Rogues, were my best friends. We don't hang out as much as we used to, but I still love them like brothers.

"Eh, as far as I know there's nothing interesting to do today, even for the Rogues," Uncle Barry says. Who knows? The Rogues are insane. Not in a bad way… Just in a Rogues way, if that makes sense.

"Let's hope so," I say. "I would like a nice relaxing night for once,"

"Agreed," My aunt and uncle say in unison. I laugh and head to the living room where the TV is. My aunt follows me, and I can distantly hear my uncle on the phone calling for pizza. I run up to my room and grab some extra blankets and pillows, dumping them in the living room then going to the kitchen for snacks.

When I return with the snacks, my uncle has set out some movies on the floor. I take a seat on the carpet next to Iris and take a look at the options.

"That one looks interesting," I say, pointing to one of the DVDs that has a big X and a guy with weird sideburns and weird hair.

"That one it is. I don't think I've seen it yet," Uncle Barry says. My aunt nods. You wouldn't think she would like action movies, but she actually does. Maybe not the ones with unnecessary explosions and mindless sex, but the good ones. Like me. Though I wouldn't say no to a couple of hot ladies. Or guys.

Yeah, I'm not picky about gender. It's the personality that counts, not the body. Though someone with a smoking hot body would not be immediately turned down…

The pizza arrives ten minutes later, when the movie had just started. Uncle B got up to go get it, while Aunt Iris and I made ourselves more comfortable to eat.

Barry comes back with five pizzas, two for me and him, and then we'll eat the rest of Aunt Iris's. Pepperoni and olives, just like I like mine. I immediately dig into my delicious pizza, as Uncle Barry does the same next to me.

"I get that you're speedsters, but slow down!" Aunt Iris laughs. Barry and I laugh with her, then turn our attention to the movie.

The opening scene shows people walking in a muddy road in the rain. The camera focuses on a boy being pushed along in the crowd. Then we see numbers printed on a woman's arm as she works. I conclude that this must be during the Holocaust, because back then the Jews had serial numbers printed on them.

The movie continues. We see a girl who can kill people with a touch, but doesn't seem to know how to control it. Then a guy that can make metal claws come out of his hands, a telekinetic and psychic girl that makes me think of M'gann, a guy with lasers coming out of his eyes that reminds me of Superman, a girl that can summon storms, and another psychic person, this time an old bald guy. The villain of the story is the boy from the Holocaust, all grown up, that can bend metal to his will. There's also a blue shape shifting girl.

My phone dings halfway through the movie. I take it out of my pocket and look at the message.

' _Where are you, boy? You were supposed to be home already,'_ I jump a little. I'd forgotten. I was past my curfew. And I hadn't let him know I was staying late. Some times it was okay if I let him know in advance that I was staying late. Other times he was so drunk he didn't care. Or he was so drunk he forgot.

"Hey, Uncle B, I kinda forgot about my curfew… I gotta go," I say, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Really? Already? It's only nine," Barry says. "Don't you think that's a little early for a sixteen-year-old?"

"Well, it's my dad. I'm sure he has a good reason," I say. Yeah, sure. So he can make sure I don't go and run away. Not that I would. Too many problems would come from that. My parents calling the police and or the League, Uncle Barry asking why I would even want to run away, being forced to get a mental examination from BC, and possibly Martian Manhunter. My parents would make it worse, pretending to be good parents, and then pin the blame on me.

But it would be my fault. The blame would go to me, because I deserve it. It would be my fault for running away. I don't want to run away. All that would happen if I did, and my secret would be out. That would ruin my parent's lives, and mine too. I can't let that happen.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with me, but the League and my friends would insist that there is. I'd be on suicide watch or something, treated like a fragile tea cup. That's why they can't know. I don't want the pity. I don't deserve it either. This is my business. They don't have any part in it.

"Well, tell Rudy and Mary we say hi," Iris tells me.

"Sure thing. Bye!" I say, walking towards the door. "Bye, Wally" Aunt Iris says. My uncle waves from his spot on the couch. I head out the door, beginning the short walk to the zeta tube in Central. I make it to the zeta, and zeta back to Keystone. I start to walk back to the house, and I wonder what the night has in store for me.

I walk into the house, to be greeted with the murmur of television. My father is sitting in the one armchair in our living room, staring intently at the TV.

"Go up to your room," Is all he has to offer. I don't think I'm getting a beating tonight. He must have had a lot of stress last night, and took it out on me. We'll see what happens tomorrow. For now I'll just enjoy being in my house without the pain, if only for one night.

 **AN: So yeah. Another abuse fanfic. Yep. This one is quite a bit lighter than my others, but I like it. A lot. I've been working on this for a while, so I think I deserve a review. Review?**

 **I could add a second part? Speaking of second parts, I think I will add on to** _ **Deserve This.**_ **What do you guys think? Second part for** _ **Deserve This**_ **? Or this story? Or both?**

 **Don't be mad! *hides* There is a reason for the one-sided Birdflash, I promise!**

 **Review please! They help a lot, trust me!**

 **PS: I looked up all the treatments for Wally's various injuries, so they should be fairly accurate. Go to the hospital for any broken bones! Do not hide any injuries you might have. Get proper treatment for them immediately.**


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